Between the Devil and Durmstrang

The novel's plot failed to keep her attention. Although it had sounded great in the Vancouver store, it now was nowhere as interesting as every sound in the hall. She tried again to bury herself in it, to become part of the suspense as the erstwhile detective hunted for the serial killer. Even the most lurid of thrillers wasn't as suspenseful as waiting for someone to knock on her door. At midnight, all the suspense ended. The book was shut and her last hopes of Mueller coming by for a drink dwindled to nothing. She had known it was a faint hope at best, but she was a hopeless optimist. Wronski had confirmed it during her second year at the school and she had been embarrassed to discover he was right. Somehow, labeling someone like her as an optimist seemed wrong. An optimist didn't ferret away little vials of blood and make deals with a bloody cloth as the prize.

Jones cancelled her Illumino spell and trudged back to her bedroom. Her small chamber was thick with shadows cast by a waning moon. She pulled a chair over to the small window and stood on it. The grounds fell sharply away behind the Dark Arts building. It had always looked like a dark abyss at night, but the moon picked out a few stones jutting here and there like teeth. Pillowing her head on her arms, she gazed out into the dark, wondering why it was only at night that she really felt comfortable. People like her did most of their work at this time. Clients loved to specify midnight as the hour they wanted the spell cast. Superstition. She scoffed at the thought.

As her eyes adjusted to the glow, she saw a light colored blob climbing up the slope. It moved steadily, but erratically. Squinting, she could just make out that it wasn't alone. Whatever else was with it was dark. Idly, she opened the window and stuck her head out of the tiny portal. The night was rich in scent. She inhaled deeply and remembered why she'd wanted to master the Animagus spell in the first place. Everything in the dark spoke to her in its own perfume. The slight breeze stirred and she smiled. The night had been generous and the wolves came back smelling of blood. They'd had a good night.

It felt only a little bit like spying as Jones mentally separated the animal forms from the human forms into separate beings. She watched as the darker one hung back and could just barely hear her whine. Loup didn't want to go back, she whimpered and stared back the way they'd come. The smaller gray wolf stood still, looking back at his mate. Jones could almost supply the dialog. Loup asking not to return, Gregorov saying he had to, Loup trying to tempt him, Gregorov refusing in that fatalistic way he had. The ears and tail drooped on the larger animal and she plodded forward. Jones felt sorry for her once rival. A known and active practitioner of the Dark Arts for pay, Loup must have felt as if she were in a trap waiting to be sprung. Jones doubted Werner would try to protect Loup.

At the point where she could just barely see them, Gregorov shifted back to human form. Jones crammed herself over as far as she could to watch the end of the scene. She still liked the way he looked, but was mostly over him. Gloomily, she had to admit that Wronski was right. Loup had won and she should get over it. The black wolf slowly approached the man and then changed into the woman. It was the gentle hand to the face and the embrace that stabbed the point home. Any idea that Jones may have toyed with that Loup was a passing fancy ended there. She felt guilty watching them during their tender moment, especially since she wished she could trade places with the other witch.

It was late. She was tired. Tired of feeling scared and tired of being alone. In a depressed funk, she sat down on her bed. The last few years hadn't been that bad. She liked teaching. Her students were, for the most part, genuinely interested in what she had to say and some of the ones in her Special Projects class made her think about her craft and do a little research of her own. Things had been a lot better since she'd started hanging out with the Aurors on Friday and Saturday nights. She hadn't realized just how hungry she'd been for companionship until then, how much she had missed having people to debate with, play darts and pool with, just to talk about nothing with. Her whole attitude had improved, even Rabe had politely commented on the change during her end-of-year review. Not that it had gotten her much of a raise. Overall, things weren't bad. The Mueller issue was the one thing she wasn't sure of. She couldn't tell whether that was a closed item now or what. She rubbed her face and thought about going to sleep. Her brain was still too awake.

The breeze lured in other scents. From the dark came a faint rank odor, one she knew too well. Someone was doing a little work that night. Smelled like rotting compost to her. Probably some sort of potion. Paul must be up.

She felt sorry for Wronski. He hadn't really understood what the Dark Arts entailed. To him, it was a job. He taught his students how to follow arcane directions from books he thought of as parodies of science. She doubted he had ever really thought about what the potions and poisons could be used for when his teenaged charges left the school. She'd seen his shock when her past was hinted at, and his reaction during Lowenstein's goreless description of how the most powerful wards were set didn't bode well for his future in the field. He'd just decided to be a part of this world and now he was getting a view of its real features. Well, at least the trip to London had been exciting. He had gotten a new wand and a bunch of books out of it plus he had gotten laid. Sounded like a good trip in her mind. Especially the last part. It had been a long time for her.

Thoughts like that don't go lightly from the mind. They hang around. Make a person tally up just how long it has been. And how many. How few. Jones found herself seated at her desk, an empty package of cigarettes crumpled in front of her and an ashtray heaped to overflowing when morning's bells tolled. Not a good night. Depressing. All of her past lovers failed to fill the fingers of one hand and she couldn't remember the last time she'd woken up next to someone. If she'd been a drinker, she would have been passed out on the desk. Since she wasn't, she had spent the dark hours brooding.

A shower helped improve her mood a bit; digging through her clothing and realizing that she had to deal with laundry issues swung the balance the other way. As she sorted things out, she uncovered an unopened carton of cigarettes and things looked shinier. A bit more excavation and the box of chocolate and peanut butter gleamed like treasure. She unwrapped a chocolate bar and dunked it in the peanut butter, calling it breakfast.

Stuffing a package of cigarettes and her lighter into a jacket pocket, she stopped just short of her door and listened for a few moments to nothing. It was too soon after watching Wronski get throttled to feel safe, so she did an Aperio spell and carefully peered about to see if anyone was there. The hall looked empty. Wand still in hand, she walked down to the staff room to see if anyone else was awake.

The room was decorated in basic black-clad Aurors. She jumped backwards at the door, making more noise than she had hoped. No one yelled for her and no one moved. Heart pounding, she stood back to the wall listening in the hall. Meaningless conversation rose and ebbed, snatches of scheduling and assignments and someone's birthday could be heard amidst blocks of work-related updates.

A delightful smell of coffee and fresh bread filtered out of the room. Gregorov's door opened and he looked out, catching Jones' eye. She watched as he sniffed and then retreated back into his rooms. It was with an audible crack that she watched his door light with gray-black wards. Something died to make those. Loup had wanted to set wards soon after she moved in with him, but Gregorov had insisted they didn't need them. Things had changed.

So intent was she on admiring the new additions that she missed hearing the footsteps. "Good morning, Professor Jones." Haken's greeting made her jump. "I believe the coffee and food are for everyone. Herr Mueller brought them as instructed." Recalling Loup's comments, she watched as Haken forced his usual grin onto his face. Wronski had said Haken's eyes were dead. She had never noticed before, but he was right.

Staying where she was, she watched Haken enter the room, and listened to the greetings. His voice mumbled something and the scrape of a chair said someone had risen from the table. Slow footsteps were counted out as that someone approached the hall. Still gripping her wand, she waited and began the words necessary for a shield spell. Paranoia is your friend.

The footsteps belonged to Mueller whose small dark eyes took in her defensive posture in one quick glance. The curl of the lip was telling. Slowly, he raised his hands to show he wasn't armed and then extended one very, very slowly to take her hand that did not have the wand. She flinched back. He looked disappointed. Feeling very much like a dog that had been kicked one time too often, she waved him off. He stepped back a polite distance and stood still. "Go ahead. I'll follow you," Jones grumbled but didn't put her wand away. Mueller sighed quietly, turned and went back into the room.

She hadn't felt this defenseless in years. The sweat trickled down her neck and back as she forced herself to walk into the familiar room. She recognized all the faces there, from Werner seated at the head of the table in Rabe's normal place, to Baldung in Kessler's chair, to Massys who seemed to be nursing a hangover in Lowenstein's spot, and then down the line. Every chair was taken by someone she knew and, until recently, had felt comfortable being around. They watched her with the same amount of interest with which she regarded them. Stopping far enough to be out of arm's reach, she asked, "Is there any coffee left?"

"Help yourself." Werner offered, not moving to pass the pot or a mug.

Mumbling to herself, she stalked over to the sink and pulled her own mug from the drain board. "Accio pot!" she ordered and grabbed the pot from its midair position, making it clear she wasn't going anywhere near the table. She almost took a sip from it before her old habits kicked in. She'd watched Loup check everything that the black mage ate or drank and she'd had thought the precautions ridiculous until now. "Confirmare!" The mug showed no tampering; the coffee wasn't poisoned or drugged. Werner smothered a laugh and turned back to his people.

She leaned against the counter and eavesdropped on their conversations. Nothing much of interest was said while she focused on them. In short order, she found her thoughts drifting towards planning her day. If all went well, she might get Wronski through another spell and do her laundry. She perked up in the middle of a conversation between Haken and Werner.

"…moved to the tavern. They claim to need real electricity and a telephone line. The spells we have been using to power it appear to be interfering with their machine. Professor Gregorov will have to go there today," Haken was saying.

"I do not understand why their machine does not work here. The extra work to create enough Portkeys is enormous. The permanent one will only take one person at a time. Everyone is already here." Werner scowled, "I do not believe their machine works."

Jones narrowed her eyes. She knew exactly why the machine didn't work at the school. She'd been surprised when she arrived at Durmstrang to find that nothing that smacked of technology worked. Not even a calculator. Wronski's battery-operated lamps were the only things she knew of that used technology with a small "t". She wondered if the spells that Haken was talking about could be pried out of him. Until recently, she would have thought him incapable of anything that advanced. Now, looking at the unsmiling version of a man she thought she knew, she wasn't certain of anything.

"Their government has a lot at stake. They must prove the machine's worth. You do understand." Haken stood to one side of Werner, his hands behind his back, looking vaguely military.

"Yes. Yes! I understand their need. I am well aware of how their wonderful machine may aid us, how it will do more, cost less. How it is superior to my men and our methods. With the wonderful machine alone, all of the illegal activities will cease. I have been told many, many times." Werner slammed a fist onto the table, making spoons and mugs jump down its length.

Jones raised an eyebrow and poured herself another cup. The show was getting more interesting by the moment. Werner stewed while Haken stood waiting. The minutes ticked by, counting down in time with the sink's drip.

"I suppose that the work on the Portkeys has already begun." Werner shot a glance up at the patient man.

Haken's smile was cruel. "Of course. It is already finished."

"Your kind was always efficient. It is a pity that you choose to hide here and not join with us."

Jones' eyes grew wide as she listened. "Your kind"? Haken's relaxed stance, the air of accomplishment, the not-pleasant smile - none of it matched with her view of the man. Her eyes ticked over each of the other Aurors in the room, noting how they looked away from Haken. Baldung's expression told of something unpleasant between the two. It had the feel of subordinates reporting to a superior.

Werner made a show of stretching and stood to face Haken. They were almost the same size, but Haken seemed bigger. They stared into each other's eyes until Werner looked away. Jones put a mental tick under a column marked "Haken".

With a satisfied smirk, Haken made a slight turn on his heel to face the table. "Professor Gregorov will report to the tavern this afternoon. Your room will be set up for seating. The machine will have its electricity and its telephone line. Every effort will be made to accommodate the Americans. This is clear, yes?"

There was a grumbled agreement and chairs scraped back as the District's best left for the day. In a stance more suited to a general reviewing his troops, Haken watched with hooded eyes and a terrible smile as the men and women filed out the door. The room dwindled down to Jones, Werner and Haken in a very short time. Haken picked up some food and left the room. When she heard his door close, Jones cleared her throat, "So, what's up?"

Emotions ranging from anger to confusion played over Werner's face as he struggled with some internal debate. It was quite clear to Jones that he shouldn't talk to her. It was also obvious that he needed to talk to someone. She pulled out her package of cigarettes and tapped one out.

"May I also have one?" Werner sounded tired.

"Didn't know you smoked." She lit one and handed it to him, amused at the way he sucked it down.

"I quit years ago. Today, I feel the need." Sitting on the edge of the table, he took his time enjoying the experience. He looked somewhere off into the distant past as he puffed and thought until the very last bit was exhaled. "I will undoubtedly regret that."

"Yeah. So I hear from the people who try to quit. Are you going to tell me what's going on or do I get to tell you what I think is happening?"

He gave her a long appraising look and then laughed softly. "You, of all people, probably have the best idea of what is going on. You know the American police, your "magic cops". They have brought us our salvation. Something to make our work so much easier, more complete. They make us sound as if we are incompetent. We do not use their tools and their technology so we must be incapable of controlling the crime in our Districts. I have heard a great deal about how primitive we are, how ineffective." He leaned further back and folded his arms. "This wonderful machine will take the place of several of my men, perhaps even myself in time. It will catalog and identify all those who are deemed suspicious. Then, without the need of any of my men or myself, it will be taken to the scenes of the crimes - is that the correct term?" He didn't wait for confirmation. "And this marvelous machine will be able to search out the energies and determine who cast the spell. Ingenious, no?"

"It's pretty accurate, but you'll only ever catch the ones who are sloppy."

"Ah, well, but most of the ones who catch our attention are the sloppy ones. The professionals, such as yourself and le loup de l'ombre, are wise enough to cover their trail. It is the numbers that interest the Ministry. Less salaries, less administrative overhead, fewer personnel issues."

Jones found herself nodding in time to the list. It was ever the same. "Same back home. The magic cops are an elite bunch, but there are too few of them to be very effective. They probably didn’t tell you about that part. They like to hassle the professionals, but they haven't been able to build a real case on any of the people I know who do the work. If they think they have enough circumstantial evidence, or you're enough of a smart ass, you get a little visit from Peterson."

Werner looked interested. "And what does he do?"

"First, he puts a locator on you, a Reperi, so they always know where you are. Then, they put a reducer on you, limiting your magical abilities. They take your wand, confiscate your tools and tap your phones. They haven't actually hurt you physically, just crippled your magical abilities. If they catch you with another wand - and they're not above planting one - they'll suck the magic right out of you. It's a Dark spell that's beyond me. Everyone I know has tried to find it. No one has. I know it's real. I've seen what it can do to a person. Peterson knows how. I don't think Smith does, or, if he does, he isn't strong enough to do it."

Werner was impressed. "Does it keep the professionals from doing their work?" She shook her head. "Then, what does this machine do for them that we cannot do with our staff?"

"Saves them money. That's what it all comes down to: money. I'd think you'd know that." Jones rinsed her mug out and turned back to look at the man struggling with the concept. "I don't know how taking Gregorov's signature will help them. He doesn't do any outside work. Loup's signature would be better."

Werner smiled. "You cannot take the signature of a wolf and that is all the Americans have seen of her."

"Some of the French Aurors got to her yesterday. She's pretty scared." Jones hated the sympathetic tone to her voice.

"Yes. I saw them. They were quite cruel. However, their remarks were towards her failure and her inability to return home. She was not considered a criminal there. She was licensed as a Dark Arts professional. Her maître's job was to ensure that she stayed within their rules. If she were to be charged for the work she had performed there, her maître would also be charged. We tend to protect our own." He looked away for a moment. "We know she has worked here; however, she is quite capable of concealing her part. We know she was involved in Professor Lester's death, but there is no proof. We know she has done work under the protection of your Headmaster; there is no evidence. She is perhaps of your caliber?" He laughed at Jones' expression. "Do you know why she cannot return? No? Her maître would lose a great deal of money. As it is now, she died performing her contract. If she returned, it would be considered a failed contract and a very large amount of money would need to be returned to her client's family. Perhaps you are correct. It all comes down to money."

"What's up with Haken?"

Werner's amused expression vanished. The topic was not one to be broached. "Professor Haken is our liaison. He is very good at what he does. If you will excuse me, I have many duties to perform before they are assigned to a little black box."